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2015-12-23

I think you'd approach New Year's a little differently if you were a vampire. Especially after the first several hundred years. With so many chances to get things right--and so many years to regret mistakes-- I suspect every New Year's Eve would be either more poignant or less momentous for the undead.

At least that's the premise I've been working with in my Children of Night series. I'm highlighting this series in this post because the newest book in the series, To Curse the Darkness just released on December 22.

My vampires are, not unexpectedly, living under cover, attempting to blend in and act like humans. As a result, they end up celebrating all sorts of holidays, New Year's Eve among them. In fact, in the course of just two books in the series--Now Comes the Night and Ashes of the Day--they celebrate a total of five different New Year's Eves: from 1968 up until the present.

Here's an excerpt of just one of them. This is from Ashes of the Day:

December
31, 1999

New
Year’s Eve

Damian leaned against the railing of the second-floor
balcony and cast a jaded eye over the crowded ballroom below. The decorations
were a tad overdone, in his opinion. Gaudy gold-and-silver Mylar festooned
every surface—the bar, the tables, even the walls. The glare all but blinded
him. Overhead, a billowing mass of champagne- and platinum-colored balloons
were tethered to the ceiling, awaiting the stroke of midnight, when they’d be
released. The last day of the year had dwindled down to the final hour. Y2K was
on the verge, that ticking time bomb that would shortly send the world hurtling
back toward the dark ages…or not.

Either way, Damian could not find it in himself to be concerned,
or even very interested, in the fate of the world. The new millennium, as most
people counted it, was about to begin. For the time being, it was still 1999
and the throng of people gathered on the hotel dance floor was certainly
partying like it.

Exhibiting far more enthusiasm than skill, the crowd sang
loudly along with Prince’s signature anthem as they bounced and gyrated to the
music. The once-familiar song struck a bittersweet chord in Damian’s heart and
he closed his eyes as nostalgia overwhelmed him. How many times had he danced
to this same record back when it was first popular? He didn’t feel even
remotely like dancing tonight. Hadn’t felt like dancing in years.

Memories rose in his mind of a supple young body pressed
tight against his own, warming his back, more often than not. He remembered
arms holding him possessively close, sweet lips dropping kisses all along his
cheek, his neck, his shoulder…

He remembered the feel of strong hands splayed on his hips,
guiding him as they moved together, thrusting, grinding, taunting each other
with graphic reminders of everything they’d be doing together later in bed.

Oh, how he longed to feel that way again, careless and
wanton, desired, loved. Oh, how he longed to hear that sexy voice whispering in
his ear. To feel those muscular arms encircling his waist or his neck, or
wrapped around his shoulders. To see that smile, hear that laugh, just one more
time.

Knowing those wishes would never come true, that those days
of joy and innocence were lost to him, gone for good, never to return, did
nothing to improve his mood.

Folding his arms across his chest, he surreptitiously
touched the small gold rings with which his nipples had been pierced. The rings
had been Paul’s originally, a final gift of sorts. Since he was Vampire, the
pain had been mild and fleeting. The tiny wounds had healed almost instantly
and had done nothing to ease the heavy sense of loss that weighed against his
chest. Perhaps if the physical pain had been more intense, more prolonged, more
on par with his emotional pain, it might have helped distract him from his
inner turmoil. As it was, all he’d had to make do with was Conrad’s anger.
While that was certainly painful to endure, it didn’t so much detract from
Damian’s distress as add to it.

“Slaves were once made
to wear such things,” Conrad had complained when he learned what Damian had
done. “Is that your wish? To be thought of as a slave now? Is that how you want
people to think of you? Is it how you want them to think of me?”

“¡Ay, puñeta!” Damian had snarled, baring his teeth and
shocking himself with his own boldness. “Déjate de leches. Tell me, who are these people about whom
you’re so concerned? And what has any of it to do with you? Are the rings
yours? Did you force me to wear them? No! So why should you have a say in this
at all? Why do you even care what I do?” It was not his usual habit to
disregard his sire’s wishes so recklessly or to respond so rudely to his
complaints. No one spoke to Conrad in that fashion. No one without a pronounced
death wish, that is.

Is that what it’s come to? Damian wondered. Am I so weary of drawing breath I’m looking to end
it all? Perhaps he was.

“Silence,” Conrad
commanded. “You go too far. Have you forgotten who I am that you dare speak to
me in this manner? Are you trying to make me lose my temper?”

Damian looked away.
For all that a shudder ran through him when he contemplated the likely result
of Conrad’s losing his temper, he still couldn’t honestly say no, that wasn’t
exactly what he was trying to do. He needed something, didn’t he? Needed
something drastic and extreme, something strong enough to pull him out of the
abyss of grief he’d fallen into. Anything was preferable to what he was feeling
now.

“Everything you do
concerns me,” Conrad said after a moment, his voice lower but no less intense.
“Don’t ever think otherwise. You’re a part of me, Damian, a part of my family,
blood of my blood. Nothing will ever change that. And I will always have a say.
Always.”

And that, Damian
thought, was precisely where the problem lay. It was obvious that what Conrad
objected to most of all was the idea of someone else’s “mark” being made
visible on Damian’s body—a body Conrad still thought of as belonging to him,
however little he wanted anything to do with it anymore.

Yes, the small bits of
metal would last for centuries—another of Conrad’s complaints, and far more
valid than the rest, in that at least it was true. They were as permanent a
reminder of Paul as any Damian could think of, something he would carry with
him wherever he went, something he could keep symbolically close to his heart
for potentially the rest of his life. But what right had Conrad to rage about
that either? None at all. Not when he himself had two living, breathing vampire
children to remind him of his last lover. As a bequest, they had no equal. As a
memorial, nothing else could come close. Of that Damian had no doubts
whatsoever. They were his one saving grace, the only things that made his life
worth living…

“A penny for your thoughts,” Conrad said, appearing at
Damian’s elbow with two glasses of champagne in hand.

Damian started. As his mind returned to the present, the
first thing that struck him was that the same song was playing—whether again or
still he didn’t know. Memories washed over him once more and his heart twisted
in grief. How was it the years could flash by, while the minutes lagged? Time
was cruel, fickle, wearisome. How much more could he bear before it broke him?

“What’s wrong? Is one penny not enough? Perhaps you’re
holding out for more?”

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped. “More what?”

Conrad frowned. “Why must you scowl at me in that fashion? I
did not invent the phrase and I’m quite sure I used it correctly. If you think
I meant to imply your thoughts were not worth very much, I assure you you’re
mistaken. I merely intended to inquire what was on your mind.”

Damian sighed. “Of course. I beg your pardon. Your use of
the vernacular is exemplary. But I have nothing whatsoever on my mind—not even
a penny’s worth.” He waved at the dance floor. “I was merely observing the
crowd.”

“No, I’m not particularly hungry.” There was only one taste
Damian was craving, and as he had virtually no chance of satisfying that
craving… “It all seems somewhat pointless, I’m afraid.”

Conrad’s smile disappeared. “Here,” he said, handing Damian
one of the glasses. “Take this, at least. You look as though you could use
something.”

“Thank you.” Damian took the glass and looked at it with
distaste. Here was something else he’d felt no inclination for in well over a
decade. “But I’m not, as they say, in the mood for it.”

“Hold on to it just the same,” Conrad said when Damian
attempted to give him back the glass. “You’d do well to keep up appearances.”
He studied him for a moment then asked, “Damian…you would tell me if there was
anything you needed, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” Damian replied dutifully, lying again because
what was the point of anything else? The truth wouldn’t do either of them a
damn bit of good.

I'll be gifting one lucky visitor with digital copies of both Now Comes the Night and Ashes of the Day. Just comment below for the chance to win!

To read more about the series, check out the Children of Night series page on my website:

When Conrad goes full disclosure on the twins’ heritage, Julie isn’t all that surprised. She’s already figured most of it out. But Armand’s shock over learning the woman he loves was born vampire drives him away for space to think. The chasm between Conrad and Damien yawns wider than ever as Conrad grapples with the pain he’s unintentionally inflicted.

As all hell breaks loose at home, Marc is dangerously out of touch on a trip down the coast to find Elise and bring her home—though she insists he’s a fool to trust her.

Armand, still struggling with his own feelings of guilt, inadequacy and betrayal, returns to find the Fischer-Quintano house in chaos. Julie is determined to go ahead with her plans to save Georgia for Conrad’s sake, though the knowledge she seeks—and the venom-drenched ritual she must endure to get it—could cause her to lose her mind. If not her life.

2015-11-02

November is shaping up to be a busy month! Here's some of what I have going on:

#1. The first book in my Children of Night series, In the Dark, is going to be on sale for just .99 until November 13.

In the Dark

When you live forever, you’re bound to make a few mistakes.

Children of Night, Book 1

1969 San Francisco. World-weary Conrad Quintano should have known better than to fall in love with a human—much less Suzanne Fischer, the barely legal, adventure-seeking hippie beauty known as Desert Rose. And the very last thing he should have agreed to do was to raise her babies and protect them with his life. But even twelve-hundred-year-old master vampires can find it hard to reject a deathbed request—especially when issues of love, guilt and blood are involved.

Present day. Raised in virtual isolation, twins Marc and Julie Fischer have always known they are vampires. But they never knew their parentage—or their unique status in the vampire world—until their “uncle” Damian comes to fetch them home. The family reunion, however, isn’t what they expect. They’re thrust into a world for which they’re totally unprepared. And the father they expected to see, Conrad, is missing.

How to find him…and whom to trust? Solving the mystery of betrayal and vampire family values will prove the Beatles had it right. All you needis love…and an occasional side of blood.

Product Warnings

While reading this book you may experience any of the following, an increased desire to wear flowers in your hair, dress in tie-dye or nap during the day. Other symptoms may include an intolerance to sunlight, an aversion to garlic-flavored tofu and a pronounced urge to bake…or get baked.

When you live forever, you’re bound to make a few mistakes. Children of Night, Book 1 1969 San Francisco. World-weary Conrad Quintano should have known better than to fall in love with a human—much less Suzanne Fischer, the barely legal, adventure-seeking hippie beauty known as Desert Rose. And the…

SAMHAINPUBLISHING.COM

#2 I'm also taking part in a PTSD and Wounded Warrior fundraiser happening now through November 8 on Facebook.

There's a ton of great books available. I've donated a couple of print copies of Midnight Ink--the book is no longer available ANYWHERE, so if you want one, here's your chance to get it and give back a little to our warriors.

One tattoo shop in one infamous city sets the stage for 8 ALL NEW stories about resolutions, kink, love and ink. Get ready to let the good times roll!

#1 All Romance Ebooks Best Seller

Top 10 Amazon Best Seller

Top 50 Barnes & Noble Best Seller

#3. Both In the Dark and Inked Memories (my story in the Midnight Ink antho) are part of Heavenly Sent's second book review bash happening now!

We all know that reviews are a big part of the Authors world. I also know that there are a ton of you that love helping Authors out!

So this event is to designed to help those Authors we know and love, and maybe some amazing new ones, get those reviews that can help them in ways we just couldn't imagine!

So sit back and prepare to get your reading on.

#4. Finally, I'll be in Huntington, WV next weekend (November 7 and 8) at the Rebels & Readers Author Event, a two day book signing event. Woohoo! I'll be signing books from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. both days at the Pullman Plaza Hotel.

Today's post offers a look at the lighter side of haunting...although I suspect I find the story more amusing than most of the people involved. Oh, did I mention this is a true story?

I'm no stranger to bi-location. For those of you who aren't sure what that is, it's basically the ability to be in two places at once. It's a form of astral projection, the main distinction being that, when you bi-locate, people can see your astral form and you retain some (usually very slight) ability to interact with them or with physical objects that you come into contact with.

For example, the first time I recall bi-locating was when I was about two-and-a-half years old. We were visiting my grandparents (who lived next door) and as this was in an era before child monitors, my parents chose to put me down for my nap there rather than carry me home where I'd be alone and too far to be heard. This did not suit me nearly as well as it did them. I was uncomfortable sleeping in an unfamiliar location and worse yet, I was missing my favorite stuffed animal. So I traveled home and retrieved it from my crib--much to everyone's consternation when they went to get me up. It was generally assumed that one of my older cousins must have felt bad for me and took it upon themselves to go and get it for me (and then subsequently refused to come forward and admit it, thinking that they'd get in trouble). Obviously, no one thought to ask me, but if they had...eh, they probably wouldn't have believed me anyway.

Apparently, the ability runs in my family, as I'm not the only one who's done it. When my sister was in college she used to come back for visits periodically. The first time it happened I thought I'd simply dreamed it--until my sister called the next morning and was able to recount our entire conversation.

Many years later, I was living on the other side of the country. My parents had sold the house where I'd grown up by that point and I wasn't handling it well. I don't like change--I feel like I should mention that point. It bothered me that I no longer had access to the house, or that my children would never get to see where I grew up. It bothered me more than it should, to the point where I began visiting it in my dreams.

These dreams were oddly unsatisfying due to the fact that I was perplexed by the obvious changes that had been made to the house. There was a different carpet on the floor. The furniture was different. And I didn't recognize any of the people I encountered sleeping in the various bedrooms. I assumed they were guests, so mostly I left them alone. But sometimes I'd wake them up to ask them if they knew about the changes.

Unfortunately, they rarely seemed to understand what I was saying. None of them wanted to talk to me. Some of the time they'd pull the covers over their heads. Other times, they'd run from the room. It was rude and annoying...and then I'd wake up back in my own bed on the opposite coast wondering what my subconscious mind was trying to tell me with these crazy dreams!

This went on for several months.

On one of my visits, I discovered that someone had attached several flimsy looking book shelves to one of the walls in the living room. Did I mention I don't like change? I really don't. So no one who knows me would be surprised that I could not just leave things as they were. I decided to put the books back where they belonged--on the built in shelves that flanked the large bow window on the other side of the room.

This, however, proved to be a surprisingly difficult task. For some reason the books kept slipping from my hands. Eventually I got so angry I knocked a whole bunch of them off the shelf and onto the floor. I guess I must have woken someone up because I heard a noise behind me and, when I turned around, I found a strange man staring at me in horror. I started towards him, intending to ask him to help me move the books but he turned and ran from the room too.Like I said: Rude. And annoying.

On my last visit, I found myself up on the roof trying to gain access to the house via my former bedroom window. My grandmother (who was dead) appeared floating in the air nearby and called me away from the house. She told me I didn't belong there anymore and made me promise not to go there anymore...a promise I've mostly kept.

The dreams stopped at that point and I didn't think any more about it until one day--I think it was about a year or so later--I received a phone call from my brother who had moved back into the neighborhood where we used to live. He told me he'd been introduced to the man who now owned our family's house, and that this man immediately began to ask him a series of very strange questions. Like had anyone ever died in the house? Had anyone ever complained that it was haunted? Did we ever have any trouble with books falling off shelves in the middle of the night?

That's when it hit me. I'd become a ghost without even realizing it. Uh...oops?

If you enjoy romantic suspense with a psychic twist I hope you'll check out the Oberon series.

There’s something magical about the California Coast town. Oberon’s idyllic setting makes it a perennial favorite with tourists, but danger lurks beneath the bright surface and things there are seldom what they seem. Visitors and residents alike find their lives forever changed by mystery, romance and intrigue.

Contemporary romance meets magic realism in this engaging series by PG Forte. This first set, Welcome to Oberon, contains three full-length novels. While each book can be read on its own, you’ll want to return again and again to visit with the friends you’ve met within their pages.

Welcome back to bewitching Oberon, California! This small, coastal town is an enchanting place. Anything can happen here – and all too often it does! Clinging to corrugated cliffs above a windswept beach, and isolated amid a tangled network of canyons and creeks, Oberon can be a hard place to get to. But, as all too many visitors have learned over the years, it can be an even harder place to leave behind.

The series continues with books four through six. Once again, these are full-length novels. Although many of the same characters appear in each one, all the books in this collection can be read as stand-alone stories.

Mystical forces are once again at work in Oberon, the quirky small town set amid the beaches, wineries and forests of California’s Central Coast. Evil has come home to roost, an evil that threatens everyone’s happy endings and that brings with it a darkness that only love can dispel.

The exciting Oberon series concludes in Happily Ever After in Oberon, a collection that contains books seven through nine. Once again, these are full-length novels in whose pages you will re-visit many of the characters you’ve previously met. Unlike the first two collections, however, a familiarity with those earlier books is recommended.

2015-06-20

Welcome to the Midsummer Night's Tea Party! You can find more participating blogs HERE.

The Oak King is one of my latest releases. It's a re-telling of the Oak King/Holly King story, which means that many of the scenes take place during either the summer solstice or the winter solstice.

Here's a scene from very early in the book. It's when Kieran (the current Holly King) meets Fionn (the future Oak King) for the very first time.

But first, the blurb:

Twice each year,
Aine Murphy ventures into the woods to hold ceremonies to honor the Oak King
and the Holly King, never dreaming these Lords of the Forest could be anything
more than myth. When the legends spring to life in front of her, how can she
help but fall for the sexy demi-gods she's loved all her life?

From midwinter to midsummer, Fionn O'Dair rules the Greenworld as the Oak
King--a role he feels is beyond his abilities, and one that dooms him to a
loveless future, forever craving the one man he can never allow himself to
have. How can he resist what Aine offers--the sweet devotion that soothes his
aching soul, and the slim chance to live a "normal" life as her
husband, if only for half a year?

Holly King Kieran Mac Cuilenn never desired a human lover--until now. Seeing
Fionn and Aine together fills him with longing for the love he threw away and
awakens feelings he thought he'd buried with the last Oak King. Is there enough
magic in the solstice to correct the mistakes he made years ago? Or is he
doomed to be forever left out in the cold?

The Holly King was not happy. Kieran Mac Cuilenn, Lord of
Misrule and Ruler of the Waning Year, had been awake since before the dawn,
intent on making the most of every last minute of freedom before his six-month
reign began. He was also eager to be reunited with his lover, if only for a few
short hours. But the day was swiftly passing, and the Oak King had yet to make
an appearance. This made the third time since sunrise that Kieran had climbed
to the top of this lonely hill to stand beside the Oak King’s tree, to lay a
hand against the oak’s rough bark and whisper words of encouragement. But, just
like the last two times, his pleas went unanswered. Naught but the faintest of
pulses emanated from within the massive trunk, letting him know that his friend
and lover continued to slumber.

“Damn you, Rory,” Kieran grumbled as worry and
disappointment ate away at his temper. “What ails you? Why won’t you wake up?”
He struck the tree with his fist, feeling more like a petulant child than a
mature dru just settling into
midlife.

He sighed in exasperation. It was getting harder each summer
to coax the older tree spirit from his tree. If things kept up at this pace,
Kieran imagined it would not be very long before the two of them would see each
other only at the winter solstice when it was Kieran who would set the pace. If
that was to be the way of it, he was half-tempted to play the same sort of game
this next December.

Why should he not pay the Oak King back in kind for worrying
him so? But he knew he would never do so. They already had so short a time to
be together that anything less was unacceptable. All the same, however, something would have to be done. Kieran
had been as patient as he knew how, but the time had come for action.

“I’ll be back soon, you old goat,” Kieran promised, dealing
the heavy trunk another sharp blow. “And I’m warning you now, I will have you out of there this day if I
have to set fire to your roots to do so.” Then he turned and headed back down
the hill, a foggy idea already beginning to take shape.

He’d tried soft words and sweet enticements—they hadn’t
worked—and Kieran was no longer in the mood for gentle coaxing. He would find
another way to rouse Rory and draw him forth. All he needed was the proper
goad, something to ignite the Oak King’s passion and force him from slumber.
But what?

He’d gone no distance at all before the exact thing he
needed appeared to him in the person of a handsome young dru lurking in the
shadows of the trees adjacent to the path Kieran trod.

Kieran’s footsteps slowed. The lad was vaguely familiar,
though Kieran did not know him by name. Something about the self-conscious
expression on the youth’s face, the flush on his cheeks, the awkward way he
dived for the shelter of the trees as though attempting to conceal himself,
caught Kieran’s attention. He stopped in his tracks and fixed the lad with a
piercing gaze. “You, there. Come out here at once and tell me what you are
doing.”

The young man flushed even harder. “Why, n-nothing, sire. I
mean, Y-your Majesty.” Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, then
stepped boldly onto the path. “I was just… I hoped… I wanted to wish you a
H-happy Solstice, m-my liege.”

“Happy?” Kieran repeated the word thoughtfully. He did not
consider either of the solstices to be joyful occasions. Once he might have
done so, he supposed, but they’d long since become the dreariest of days,
forever associated with sacrifice and loss.

“Aye, Your Majesty. And also…to wish you well as your reign
commences.” He paused, tongue darting nervously out to wet his lips, then
continued in a rush. “I know you are always with us, my liege, whether we see
you or no. But the world will seem a bleaker place until you return again to
grace us with your presence.”

“I see.” Kieran felt a rush of attraction such as he could
not remember feeling in a very long time. It was followed almost immediately,
however, by one of regret. What a shame they had not crossed paths earlier in
the year. As it was, he now had no time to pursue anything with… “Tell me, what
is your name, lad?”

“F-fionn, m-my liege. Fionn O’Dair.”

Fionn. Kieran repeated the name silently. He would really
have to try and remember that. “Well, I thank you, Fionn, for your well
wishes.” The boy was delightful, bright as a summer morn—an oak, obviously—and,
perhaps because of that, Kieran was suddenly reminded, most forcefully, of
Rory.

It was then that the half-realized ideas in Kieran’s head
coalesced into a plan. What better way to gain the Oak King’s attention than to
flaunt a new lover in front of him, to make love to this lad right in the shade
of Rory’s branches? Why, nothing could be more perfect! He could indulge in a
harmless flirtation with Fionn and roust Rory from his bed at the same time.

Knowing Rory as he did, Kieran was certain the oak would
waste no time in making Kieran pay for his insolence. He’d be wont to take his
wayward lover hard and fast—very much in the same manner as Kieran planned on
taking Fionn, if he were willing. The thought only added to Kieran’s
excitement.

A smile overspread Kieran’s face. “I wonder, young Fionn,
how sincere you are in wishing me happy. For, if you’re willing, I can think of
a way in which you might assist me in making this solstice a very happy one
indeed.”

* * * *

The world was not what it once was. Of that Rory
Tighearnach, high king of the drus—the tree spirits of Éire—was certain. Why, he had only to look around him to see the
proof of that! His home grove was naught but a memory now. All of his family,
stately creatures, tall and proud, trees that had once clustered about him,
that had sheltered him from wind and rain when he was but a sapling, were long
gone. Even the deer and the squirrels that had once lingered in their shade, or
browsed upon the abundance of acorns and nuts the trees let fall, had deserted
him. He alone remained now, surrounded by gorse and furze and heather, with
only a handful of birds—who still returned, year after year, to make their
nests in his branches—for company.

Were he a simple dru, like others of his kind, he would have
long since moved on. For contrary to what the legends claimed, tree spirits
were not solitary by nature, nor must they remain always where their trees were
rooted. But Rory’s life was no longer his own. He was the Oak King, Lord of the
Forest, Protector of the Greenworld, Ruler of the Waxing Year, and it was these
responsibilities that kept him bound here.

For six months—midwinter to midsummer—Rory was held in a
kind of stasis, unable to take shape or venture forth. That was his body, but
his mind was also not his own. Though not similarly constrained to remain in
one place, it was almost completely subsumed by the Forestmind. His awareness
flowed outward, through a wide and varied network of root and branch, rhizome
and filament. Working its way through lichen and algae, through seaweed and
moss, it circled the globe. It was everywhere at once, cognizant of all that
transpired within the entirety of the Greenworld.

It was an honor to have been chosen for so exalted a
purpose. And there was a certain amount of bliss to be had in his yearly
melding with a will so much greater than his own. But it was a burden also.
Some years, he’d been scarcely able to wait for the summer solstice to arrive.
He’d been so eager to be released from his service—freed him to be just himself
once again—that he’d fair burst from his tree the first moment he was able.

More and more often, however, he’d begun to find it hard to
return to regular consciousness. The magic needed to extricate himself from his
tree seemed more elusive than in years past. The Greenworld continued to pull
at his soul in a way it had not done before. He could feel it calling him,
urging him to stay submersed in its depths, to lose himself within it. Perhaps
to lose himself permanently.

Today, for example, though the morning had fled—and most of
the afternoon as well—he had yet to make the slightest effort to free himself.
He could not recall a single reason why he should. Did the noonday sun not feel
pleasant as it caressed his leaves? Was not the warm breeze that stirred amid
his topmost branches a delight to experience? Why not tarry a while longer,
right where he was, dreaming of days gone by? Why force himself to face the
reality of a world grown bleak and dismal?

The sound of laughter filtered into his thoughts, such a
gentle, rousing sound. Rory smiled when its source was revealed. Two drus were
at play upon his hill, pursuing each other through the brush—naked and
unafraid. As well they might be. For even if there had been humans present,
they would not be seen. No human senses could pierce the magic veil that had
been erected to keep the two species separated, and no dru would ever be so
foolish to do so.

But ah, their laughter took him back, it did. Once upon a
time he too had played such games. It warmed his heart to realize there was
still some joy left in the world. His heart heated even more when he recognized
one of the two men. Kieran Mac Cuilenn, the Holly King, he who ruled over the
Waning Year.

The other dru was as yet unknown to him. Rory studied the
newcomer with some interest. He was tall, though still somewhat gangly, with a
curly mop of copper-colored hair bleached gold in places by the sun. Judging by
his coloration and his build, Rory could tell he was an oak, but a very young
one, little more than a stripling.

Kieran led his playmate to the very foot of Rory’s tree.
There the chase ended. Kieran turned and fixed his pursuer with a heated
gaze—part challenge, part invitation. The second dru halted but a few steps
away. He glanced up briefly, uncertainly, hazel eyes growing wider as his gaze
took in the spread of Rory’s branches, the majestic bulk of his trunk; then his
eyes focused once again on Kieran.

The reverence with which the lad regarded the holly was as
obvious as it was understandable. In his human form Kieran was stunning. Long
limbs. Lean, sinewy muscles. His bare skin was winter-pale. His hair, dark as a
crow’s back for the most part, was laced with starlight threads. And his eyes,
as Rory well remembered, were the deep, pure green of a pine forest reflected
in a moonlit lake.

The unknown dru stared longingly at Kieran. His hazel eyes
held a stormy mix of doubt and desire. “Your Majesty?” He addressed Kieran
hesitantly, clearly eager for more of his attention yet reluctant to overstep
his bounds.

PG Forte inhabits a world only slightly less strange than the ones she creates. Filled with serendipity, coincidence, love at first sight and dreams come true.

She wrote her first serialized story when she was still in her teens. The sexy, ongoing adventure tales were very popular at her oh-so-proper, all girls, Catholic High School, where they helped to liven up otherwise dull classes...even if her teachers didn't always think so.

Originally a Jersey girl, PG now resides with her family on the extreme left coast where she writes contemporary and paranormal romance in a variety of sub-genres.

2015-05-25

Well. We've arrived at the last day of my pity party. So I guess I'd better get this last contest link posted! Today's prize is a digital copy of any book in my backlist. I haven't decided how many winners I'll pick. It depends on how many entries I get! That is not to say I'm giving books away to everyone who enters! My publishers might object to that! But the more entries, the more prizes. That's all I'm saying.

Today I'm featuring books from my LA Love Lessons series. Because, they're the only books I haven't really talked about yet this week. But first the contest link.

As the owner of The Body Electric, LA’s hottest new exercise studio, sexy, former film star Claire Calhoun has her pick of studly young men eager to do her bidding. Small wonder she’s used to calling the shots, both in and out of bed. But everything changes the night the actress-turned-entrepreneur has one mojito too many at a party and decides it would be fun to pick up her accountant, Mike Sherman. She's thinking fling. He's thinking forever.

Everyone in LA is waiting for The Big One - the big break or the big quake. Gabby's no different, but she's also waiting for the Big O - the elusive, G-spot, ultra orgasm. She thinks Zach, the super hot musician who's just moved into her building, might be able to give it to her. But her friend Derek, a martial arts instructor with whom she's co-writing a screenplay, keeps getting in the way.

Gabby refuses to even consider Derek for the role of soul mate because she fears sex will ruin their friendship. Derek has his own script in mind, and it doesn't include sharing Gabby with anybody.

When an early morning earthquake hits LA, Gabby realizes who her leading man has always been. As for the Big O...well...she's ready for her close up.

And now I'm going to leave you with a few links and teasers to our collected works. *snort*

Theirs was a love that nature never intended. Bigger than Texas. Hotter than Hades. Weirder than…a lot of other things you might have read about up until now.

Self-made zillionaire Rock Fangsworthy is your typical Texas cowboy…well, sort of. Typical in that the only thing this lethally sexy lady-charmer with the hair trigger temper loves more than his horse is his ranch, The Double Fang. Or maybe his boots. Less typical in the fact he's also a four hundred year old vampire with a shocking secret—he can't stand the sight of blood.

Buffi Van Pelt is just your average girl-next-door winery owner…or is she? The spunky single mom to twin boys also happens to be a winsome werewolf with secrets and troubles of her own. The winery that the gutsy good-girl recently inherited from her grandmother is on the verge of ruin. If Buffi can't find a use for the mysteriously tainted wine before time and her pantry's limited supply of red meat runs out, she and her pups will be left homeless, destitute and very, very hungry. Worse yet, her baby-daddy is the same hunky, bad-boy vampire rancher who's out to steal The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck from under her paws.

Once upon a time their passion flamed hotter'n a summer's night in Dallas with three Cheerleaders and a side of habanero sauce. Tonight, love's lightning might just strike them twice…but only if the wine don't kill them first.

Welcome, gentle reader, to this, our second literary offering entitled, If You Give a Duke a Duchy, or alternatively, Love's Savage Whiplash. This is not your ordinary Regency Novel--oh, no. Rather, it is a Tall Tale of Panting Passion wherein a Disaffected Duke runs away to Sea to become a Pirate and ends up becoming Love Slave to a Ninja Queen, whilst at home he is replaced by a Nefarious Highwayman and ne’er-do-well who is, in turn, Ultimately Redeemed by his love for a Poor but Virtuous Governess.

Once upon a time, there were nine
naughty novelists. They were from all over the United States and Canada, and
through the magic of the Internet, they came together for blog hijinks,
friendship, and more. They bonded over their shared love of wine, chocolate,
shoes, and good books. But they had never been in the same place at once. Until one lucky weekend in New
Orleans.

There was much walking and
sightseeing. There were beignets and hurricanes and Voodoo shops. Plans were
made and projects were started. Copious amounts of writing occurred. Amazing
food was consumed. Much laughter filled the air. There may have been wine
involved. Okay, there may have been a lot of
wine involved.